“I see.”
“Yes. As they review the dead, some they have no use for; these are allowed to reincarnate, or are taken to be servants in the Paths of the Dead—those who wear the Purple Robes. Others have skills that might someday be useful, and those are held in the Paths of the Dead against that use, or reincarnated into circumstances where their skills can develop. A few study for the Godhood themselves, and a tiny number are sent out once more, as Undead, because their usefulness in the world has not expired with their lives. I became one of these latter some years ago.”
I nodded. “Okay, I think I’m starting to get it.”
“Yes? But here is where it starts becoming complicated.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Stop it,” she said. “That expression is not your most endearing. Listen and try to understand.”
I sighed. “All right.”
She nodded. “I have told you about the gods and the Jenoine, but there are other factors, and chief of these are the Serioli. You have never met one, but—You have? I didn’t know or have forgotten. But I am sure you know little about them. I know little about them, though I have had more to do with them than any other human being in the world.
“The Serioli are native to the world, which neither your people nor mine are. In some measure, perhaps they resent us both, though most of them recognize that we are not responsible for what has been done to us. But above all, they resent the gods, because the gods, in a very real way, rule the world. The Serioli did not evolve as a people to be ruled—who would so evolve?
“It was the gods who sent the dreams that inspired Kieron the Conqueror to gather the tribes and move east, and the visions that led Zerika to create the Orb; thus it was the gods who created the Empire that drove the Serioli from their homes, that destroyed much of their culture, killed many of them in battles. They—and while it is hard to speak of a whole people as if they had a single voice, here I think I am not too wrong—they hate the gods. This does not always make them friends of the Jenoine, but it does make them the enemies of the gods. Do you see?”
“I think so,” I said slowly.
“And some of the Serioli believe that an enemy of their enemy must be their friend.”
I nodded.
“The gods,” she continued, “are forever seeking ways to seal our world, so the Jenoine cannot reach us. And factions among the Serioli keep searching for ways to allow the Jenoine access. And into this conflict come those Serioli who, years ago, crafted those half-living, half-inanimate artifacts called the Great Weapons, each of which is, in one way or another, obviously or not, directed against the gods.”
I blinked. “The Great Weapons are—but that doesn’t make any sense. Why—? Okay, never mind. Keep going.”
“I never said it would be simple.”
“Yeah.”
“Where was I? Ah, yes: the Great Weapons. Jenoine are very hard to kill, Vlad. We know of no poison that works on them, their internal organs are duplicated; they have no spine to sever, and they have an almost perfect natural immunity to the disruptive effects of amorphia. They regenerate when injured, and I have seen them, on more than one occasion, resist even powerful Morganti weapons, as if their very souls are hidden away from their bodies. But this cannot be, because the Great Weapons can kill Jenoine. The Great Weapons are the only reliable way to kill Jenoine—if you can survive long enough to find a way to strike, and if you don’t miss and if they fail to defend against it.
“Do you see the contradiction, Vlad? Do you see the irony?”
“Yeah, I’m always good with irony.”
“I know. You always have been, even in the days before the Empire I remember that about you.”
“I ... okay.”
“Do you see it?”
I nodded. “The Great Weapons were created to destroy the gods, but now they’re being used to defend the gods. Cute.”
“Yes. We who carry the Great Weapons are the appointed of the gods—even those of us who, like Zungaron—”
“Who?”
“Never mind. Even those of us who have one only by accident and have not the least clue what it is for, or what to do with it. If we defy the gods, by intention or accident, we are likely to find life difficult. And yet, we are the only humans whom the gods have reason to fear, and to hate.”
I blinked. “I’ve never envied you, Sethra. Now I envy you even less.”
She smiled. “The result,” she said, “is that we must look out for each other—the reasons for that should be obvious.” I nodded.
“The gods hate our weapons and need us who wield them; the Jenoine fear our weapons and hate the gods. Do you understand?” I nodded again.
“Think back to your own past, Vlad: I know what Aliera told you about your past lives, so consider her words now. Millennia ago, back in the days when we were creating an Empire, though only Zerika knew that we were doing so, the seeds of all of this were planted. Consider those you know of who were once your family, and those who mattered to you in a time too faded in the mist for you to imagine, much less remember. Kieron is now, and remains in the Paths of the Dead awaiting his moment. I, who had some importance in the tribe, am here, watching the Great Weapons, observing the Jenoine, listening to the gods, and trying to see that nothing upsets the balance.
“I think we were all, even then, marked out by the gods. I can’t say I like it much, or that you should, but there it is. Now Aliera has been taken, and Morrolan as well. Who could and would take them both?
“A human agency? I wonder if there is anyone who could take two such as Aliera and Morrolan, and hide them from me. But, even if such a person exists, he could not hide them from the Necromancer. If there was a human involvement, then, it was in the service of someone more powerful.
“The gods? An unlikely possibility, but one that cannot be overlooked. I did not overlook it; I have ways of finding out such things, I used them, and I believe the gods have nothing to do with this; indeed, some of them are rather concerned by it. Perhaps a rogue god, and this could still be true, but such a one would have trouble hiding from Trout, who knows the motives of the gods. No, I do not believe it was any of the gods.
“A demon? No, the demons have their own lives, and no concern for our world, except when they are summoned; and that only begs the question of who did the summoning and why?
“The Serioli? I doubt it, because I have never heard of them doing anything of the kind, but I hope it is the Serioli, because if it is not them, then it is the Jenoine. The Jenoine, who wish the weapons to be used against the gods—which, after all, is what they were designed for.
“I know you, Vlad: you are uncomfortable with things like causes and reasons, however much you ask for them. And however much you protest, you are and always have been happiest when you had a single task you could accomplish, without worrying about the whys and the consequences. Well, but you asked, and so I answer. Our friends are in danger. And it may be that much else is in danger as well; until we know more, it is impossible to say for certain if this is part of a move against the Empire, but we certainly must be aware of the possibility. You may be able to help ward off a threat to the Empire, you may have the means of helping those who are your friends and mine; it seems to me that you certainly have a duty to try, and I would have told you nothing except that, but you wanted the whole story. The whole story would have taken longer to tell than you expect to live, Easterner, but at least I gave you a piece of it. I hope you’re happy.” 3. Dropping in Unexpectedly
Once again I had allowed my klava to get cold; once again Tukko appeared and brought me more.
All right, so the Jenoine had taken short, cocky Aliera, and tall, arrogant Morrolan, her cousin. I confess that a little part of me was pleased that someone had shown them they weren’t as ultimately tough as they acted. But other parts of me couldn’t forget that, well, that we’d all saved each other’s lives more than once, and that they had both been kind to me when they had no good reason to, and that, however irritating I might find them, we had a lot of history among the three of us, and, though it hurt to admit it, even some affection.